black rocks and shoreline sand
by the milliner's rook
Summary: AUish. This is the question on everyone's unhappy mind: What the hell is a soulmate anyway?
1. mamihlapinatapei

_A/N. Loosely inspired by the movie 'Timer'._

* * *

><p><strong>BLACK ROCKS AND SHORELINE SAND<strong>

_mamihlapinatapei _

(the look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move)

* * *

><p>It's more than just a Timer that draws them together. More than destiny, more than soulmates.<p>

Finnick bites back a derisive laugh. Soulmate.

What the fuck is a soulmate anyway?

Anyway. It's — that's —

Finnick looks at his wrist, the smooth skin unmarred by the ripped out Timer, unmarred underneath his bracelets. Of course the Capitol wiped the blood away, healed his wrist as if it had never happened, and the only witness was Annie in the Arena grabbing her wrist and looking up wide-eyed, a deer in the headlights, while Finnick's fingers were full of blood.

(He may be a heartless bastard, but he will never forget that moment. He did that. He did that.)

It's different now. He changed the rules. He — unmade them. And you can't go back. You can never go back. Finnick learnt that long ago, licking the sugar off his lips and smiling prettily at his string of lovers. The skin knits back together, and it doesn't matter how much you think the salt water disappears from the sun's Capitol, some part of the sea always remains with you.

And now, he's left with the consequences. The wreckage after the storm. Annie Cresta survived the Games.

(And his weakness, his unscarred wrist, the blank dashes on hers, will forever haunt him.)

Fuck.

Fuck.

He can't stand to look at her, after. He stays away from her in the train, while Mags stays with Annie, the brave, the strong, the survivor. Annie says nothing, staring out the windows, and he knows that she can't stand to look at him either.

She can't stand to look at anything.

(Finnick still hasn't apologized.)

* * *

><p>The thing is, Finnick's always been a coward in the worst possible way. He can fake it until he makes it to people he doesn't give a damn about, and that's the problem. That's always been the fucking problem.<p>

It's because he cares about Annie that he can't lie. Hell, he can't lie to Mags, not that he'd even try, because she'd see through him anyway, tell him as much. Annie though, Annie would stop him with a look, her sharp eyes cutting through the bullshit, and — fuck.

He doesn't know what he'd say to Annie, even if he tried.

* * *

><p>It's a calm, sunny day when Finnick takes Annie to the sea. There's danger in the lull of still waters, and maybe that's why Finnick does it in the end.<p>

He rows until his wrists ache, and that's penance, right? It will never be enough, but. It'll be enough for now.

"There's blood in the water." Annie says, palms open to the sky.

Her Timer still on her wrist, blank forever and always now, but still intrinsically connected to him.

"It's a fish eat fish world," Finnick agrees, because they've known the cruelty of the sea all their life, long before they were Careers, long before they forgot about innocence.

"It's never going to go away, is it?" Annie asks, lashes darkly framed around her eyes, and it hits Finnick all at once, too late, always too late—

Mags has always told him, he's a bright boy, but terribly stupid when it counts to affairs of the hearts. And he'd laughed and locked his heart away, because he'd swore long ago that his heart was to be guarded at the bottom of the ocean, a treasure chest hidden under a mountain of sand.

Apparently, that hadn't stopped him from trying to slip one final piece of emerald and drowning in its green depths in the process.

"No." Finnick says, swallowing, and couldn't pull himself away even if he tried. "Never."

Annie nods, and looks away. There's a ship visible in the distance, and Annie watches it.

"I missed this." She says, soft, lucid, reaching out to make ripples in the water. "I missed the sea."

"Yeah." Finnick tries to smile, throat too thick. "There's nothing quite like home."

* * *

><p>He claws at his wrist when he's by himself that night, red raw marks raked across his smooth, smooth skin.<p>

Soulmate. The word sticks in his mind, in his mouth, in the flat of his tongue, and he'd laugh if he could. What the fuck is a soulmate anyway?

Not fucking this.

Not this.


	2. anagapesis

_anagapesis_

(the feeling when one no longer loves someone they once did)

* * *

><p>Annie said no.<p>

Annie is twelve and bright-eyed and stubborn, her hair bedraggled and messy and draped over her shoulders like seaweed splayed across the ocean shore, and she stares at the man from District Three. She ignores the Timer in his hand, meant for her.

She stares at him straight in the eye, unflinching and unyielding, arms folded over her chest.

Her chin raised high, her choice is no.

* * *

><p>"What's the point of one?" She shrugs, later, when she gets asked by Coral, a better knife thrower than Annie could ever hope to be. Coral looks admiringly at her own wrist, still a few more years to go. She can't wait. Annie's nose wrinkles, and she collects more shells to take back home. "It doesn't seem like fun at all."<p>

She makes a bracelet that night, striping one shell blue, dotting another green, and with a curly flick, paints the letter A in red.

It looks prettier than a countdown ever could.

* * *

><p>Here's the thing: Annie Cresta's parents aren't romantic. Sophie Cresta has never cared about destiny: she doesn't need some divine device to make that decision for her. The day she saw Zeke, she knew he was an idiot, and she never paid much mind to him until later. She cared more about the shine of fish scales than the shine of a golden ring. Better to eat than to love, she figured. Common sense worked better that way.<p>

As for Zeke Cresta and the scar of his wrist: he gets a Timer the day he turns fifteen, and then has it removed a week later. A fishing accident, he likes to say, the hook scratched him a little too deeply. Everyone knows that Zeke Cresta can't lie for shit. The truth is, after a week, he couldn't be bothered to wait for the moment when the numbers appeared and the countdown would start. He's too impatient for that kind of thing, and with dry wit, Sophie tells him, it's a miracle he's a fisherman. Zeke just scowls and says that what else is there, if they're living in District Four.

The way Annie sees it, whenever she gets told for being old fashioned, is that she's not the one letting her life get dictated by a machine.

She's like her parents; she isn't one for romantic things either. Like her parents, she's good at skipping stones.

* * *

><p>The Timer has existed as long as the Hunger Games had. Initially a party trick from District Three, it evolved under the Capitol's eye, into something aligned with stars and destiny, true love and soulmates, until suddenly it became mandatory for all Tributes to wear one.<p>

Just in case they find their soulmate in the Arena and have to rip their throat out with their teeth. Just in case they wanted to know who their last chance at happiness is, while they still remained in their District, alive and scared and doomed. Just in case the conflict becomes more entertaining for the Capitol.

(Just in case, after, if they survive, they can cling to that slither or redemption and wash the blood off their hands. A soulmate will do that, the spokesperson from District Three promises. A soulmate will forgive them and love and stand by them on their worst days.)

It happens, sometimes. A District One Tribute's soulmate might be someone from District Twelve, a terribly unbefitting match. Or maybe a District Two with a District Four, two Careers working together to their strengths before the inevitable end. Do they trust each other or do they kill each other? The possibilities are endless.

Because who doesn't love a good soulmate story?

* * *

><p>Annie turns sixteen, and she falls in love that summer with a boy named Neptune Jones. It's love, because she flushes each time she catches his eyes gleam in a sunset, it's love because of the way his too-big hands splay over her stomach and curl against her clothes send sparks across her skin. She doesn't need a Timer to tell her this. Not when she prefers how he steals her kisses when no one is looking instead.<p>

The point is: she chose him.

She saw him flecked across the ocean water, and watched him emerged from the glittering depths of the sun-streaked waters, and thought I like you.

* * *

><p>When Finnick Odair becomes a Victor, there's a surge in Timers. It's not hard to see why. A pretty boy like him, with golden curls and golden grins, no wonder people hope that they might be so lucky.<p>

Finnick Odair smiles at the camera, at Caesar, at the Capitol, bathed in gold and crowned in laurels, trident in hand, his teeth bared like a shark out for blood.

* * *

><p>"What if," Coral says, weaving Annie's hair into plaits. Her hands settle on Annie's shoulders for just a moment too long. "What if you got them, you and Neptune, and it turns out you two were soulmates?"<p>

It's a question she's asked before.

"Well then, it would be just a waste of time." Annie says, not sure whether she should pull away or stay where she is. She stays where she is. Coral resumes, but not before she tugs at Annie's hair, unable to suppress her annoyance. "Anyway, Coral, we've only been dating for a week."

"So? Better to find out earlier than never, right?" Coral hums, her flaxen hair pulled neatly into a ponytail. "Better to find out now that he's your soulmate, right?"

"Why?" Annie blinks. "Because it would be easier that way?"

"Love is easy. Or it will be." Coral says firmly, twisting the bobble one last time. "All I have to do is wait."

"And you're sure that's not the easy part?" Annie says, smoothing out the creases on her skirt.

* * *

><p>Coral has ideas, Annie knows, the same one she's always had ever since Annie's met her. Coral has hopes and dreams about who her soulmate is going to be, and she can't wait to see them proven wrong. Her ideal soulmate is going to have long dark hair that traps a sickle moon; she's going to have a pretty smile, slender shoulders and looks breakable in the breeze. She's going to love cake and her preferred weapon is going to be the net because she has nimble fingers. They're going to fall in love and it will be easy.<p>

The details change, often, but one thing never does: Coral meets her soulmate, and falls deeply in love with her.

"Someone like Gwen, you mean?" Annie says, the first time she hears the latest edition, in a tone that isn't dissimilar to her mother's scepticism. She raises an eyebrow. It's impossible thing, because Gwen with her long, dark hair and pretty smile has talked with Coral an endless amount of times, and doesn't wear a Timer.

"Well." Coral coughs, cheeks the lightest shade of pink under Annie's scrutiny. "Maybe. I hope?"

"So, alright. You meet the person a little bit like Gwen. And it'll be smooth sailing, just like that." Annie says, absentmindedly, picking up another stone and tossing it across the water, watching it bounce four times and valiantly tries for a fifth. She smiles, despite herself. "Doesn't that, I don't know, sound… boring to you?"

"Boring." Coral repeats, crossing her arms. "You mean—"

"No fun at all." Annie grins, flicking her wrist and the pebble skims the water's surface beautifully.

"But don't you want to know?" Coral asks, later, as the light begins to fade, twirling the stone as easily as wielding a knife. There's only a few more days to go before she finds out who her soulmate is. "Just to be certain."

* * *

><p>There's a Timer on Neptune's wrist, numbers going down. She notices it for the first time when he tugs his sleeve past his elbow and he grins messily at her.<p>

"It's a trick, see?" Neptune laughs, peeling the sticker of his wrist, his skin unblemished, like it's the best prank ever told. "I don't. I've never seen the point of having a soulmate, but. It stops people from asking."

She feels like laughing when he stutters over his words, pressing her lips to hide the smile, and banishes the thought out her mind that maybe—maybe—

"Clever." Annie says and grins. Each time she pushes herself to her tiptoes, she reaches for his wrist and tears the fake Timer away with her nails. She's always careful to return it, smoothing the sticker over some part of him that it shouldn't be: his hip, his hand, his heart, and wonders if he's using the Timer as a placeholder for when they'll next meet.

* * *

><p>The week before the reaping, Coral finds out who her match made in heaven is.<p>

"A boy." Coral howls, eyes puffy and red. "My soulmate is—is a boy."

Annie sits beside her, legs dangling in the pier. She's just as surprised. The last thing either of them expected for Coral's soulmate was going to be someone called James. They meet, as fate would have it, in the marketplace. An apple rolled towards Coral, she picked it up, looked to where it came from and then, as their eyes met, the Timer went off. As briskly as she could, Coral turned and walked away, refusing to look back.

"Love is supposed to easy." Annie murmurs, "Isn't that what you said?"

"Shut up." Coral snaps, cheeks wet. "I thought—it was supposed to be—"

"Someone like Gwen." Annie nods, breathing out heavily, wanting to do something—reach out, punch her shoulder, maybe. Give her a hug. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

* * *

><p>Neptune picks up a pebble, throws it into the water and says, "Soulmate. What does that mean anyway?"<p>

* * *

><p>The closest Annie Cresta has ever been to Finnick Odair is when she walks in front of him to stand in the middle of the stage after Theo calls her name. He's even more radiant in person, and it's almost because he knows it. It's a little bit like looking at the sun without shading her eyes.<p>

He doesn't even look at her.

She looks at the other Victors: Mags Cohen, Muscida Selkirk, Librae Ogilvy and Ron Stafford, how they stand and regard her in a mixture of pity and curiosity, and wonders if she can't choose her battlefield, at least she might be able to choose someone who can teach her how to stare death in the face and say today is a good day to die.

So it goes: she stands and she waits and her heart breaks a little bit more when her male Tribute is a boy of fourteen, a mop of curly hair, stumbling on his feet as he makes her way towards them. Someone she knows.

Teddy Ellis. Coral's little brother.

* * *

><p>It's funny. She doesn't really feel anything. Not fear, not terror. Just a strange sense of calmness, as she seeks out her parent's faces. She's been brought up all her life for this. In some ways, this is what she's been waiting for, and the odds are finally in her favour because she can prove how good she really is, armed with nothing but a stone. She knows other tricks: Zeke's speciality at hooks, Sophie's knack for paint. But she doesn't feel excited either.<p>

There's a hollowness being born inside her, seeping through her bones, and she decides then and there: if it's between her and Teddy, she'll take the fall.

She has to protect him.

* * *

><p>When Annie is twelve she has the choice to say no. When Annie turns eighteen, she doesn't have the choice anymore.<p>

And Neptune asks, spending the last sunset with her in District Three, tossing pebbles into the water, "Soulmate. What does that mean anyway?"

* * *

><p>Annie says, "You don't have to do this."<p>

Annie says, "It's okay, Jones."

Annie says, "You don't have to wait for me to come back."

Neptune gives her a look. "Come on, Cresta. Don't be like that. I want to."

"Okay." She says, pushing herself to her tiptoes and slipping the Timer sticker off his wrist one last time before she cards her fingers through his soft hair. "Okay."

Neptune says, between kisses, "You're going to come back."

She thinks of Coral, thinks of Teddy, thinks that no one really comes back from the Games.

Annie says, "I love you."

* * *

><p>They get the Timers together, just in case they're soulmates after all. May the odds be ever in your favour, a woman from District Three says, after telling them that the process is quick and painless, over before they know it.<p>

Neptune goes first.

There's nothing but blank dashes.

The relief Annie feels is overwhelming, hope filling her up inside her like air to a balloon.

Her turn next.

And it's—

Her soulmate isn't Neptune.

* * *

><p>On the pier, with the sunset fading into night, Neptune throws a pebble into the water and says, "Soulmate. What does that mean anyway?"<p>

"Nothing." Annie says, and hates that her Timer is set to zero. Tomorrow. She's going to meet her soulmate tomorrow. "It doesn't have to mean anything, Neptune."

"It doesn't matter," Neptune says, throat tight, like he's stopping himself from tearing up and crying. "I love you. I love you. Some device can't take that away just because you're—"

He breaks off, brusque, and Annie finishes what he can't say.

"Not my soulmate."

* * *

><p>"It doesn't. It can't." Annie says, watching dusk creep through the beginning of the end, and if this is how it ends, then she wants to throw one more stone, see how the ripples are formed, and make sure that her last memory is a good one. Her last memory is—him, her, sunset and sunrise spent sleeping on the docks, Timer on one wrist, and a seashell bracelet on the other. Her last memory is this: "I still love you."<p>

* * *

><p>(It's Finnick Odair.<p>

Finnick Odair: soulmate, mentor, friend.

Finnick Odair is… complicated.)

* * *

><p>After:<p>

She comes back, but she's not the same.

It doesn't matter that the Timer on her wrist is a blank now, it doesn't matter that the person she was died with the screams and the earthquake, with the blood splatter drying on her clothes, it doesn't matter that she was reborn in water and dragged everyone around her down to their last dying breath, submerging them to the watery depths of hell.

What matters is that she's different and the Annie Cresta that Neptune Jones loved (loves) is gone.


	3. ultracrepidarian

_ultracrepidarian_

(of one who speaks or offers opinions on matters beyond their knowledge)

* * *

><p>Listen.<p>

It's supposed to go like this:

The morning is bright and blue and beautiful. The morning is silent save for the sound of the train on the tracks. It's a poor substitute for the sea, closer to the patter of rain hitting the windowsills, but it'll do, each tribute from District Four tells themselves, the first time, the last time, the next time until they can no longer believe it. It'll do.

Finnick opens the door and greets Annie Cresta with a smile. She smiles back, a little bit dazed, a little bit sad, a little bit scared. A little bit how she seemed yesterday. The shock hasn't completely washed away. Finnick doesn't blame her.

"Hello, Annie." He says, and wonders how deadly she is with a trident, a net, a knife. It's best to focus on her strengths. "I'm Finnick Odair."

"Hi Finnick," Annie says, voice deceptively soft, like her tears have been swallowed by the sea, dried by the sun, and all that's left is the soft glow on her rosy cheeks.

"I'm your mentor this year. One of them, at least." Finnick says, straight to business, ready to get through the stock speech as fast as possible. "Aren't you lucky I'm first?"

That prompts a smile, something more real than the first tentative smile that's a reflex action more than anything else. Who wouldn't smile at seeing the fantastic Finnick Odair? Make 'em laugh, that's one of the first tricks Finnick's father told him. He had a lot of advice like that. Make 'em smile, make 'em blush, make 'em like you, and you're half-way there already to betraying their trust and stabbing them in the back.

If nothing else, Finnick's good at making first impressions.

"The luckiest." Annie agrees, humouring him with a roll of her eyes.

Finnick grins back. He likes her already, but then instantly liking someone has never been a hardship. Not even for pretend.

"So, Annie, tell me about yourself."

* * *

><p>It's supposed to go something along those lines. Either they admire him or they don't, or they snap out of their daze or they don't, but Finnick is usually able to break the ice with a sly remark that gets them laughing like they're friends for the time being.<p>

It's been like that that for the last four times.

* * *

><p>(It's not meant to go like—<p>

His soulmate isn't—doesn't—

It's stupid of him, really, to not expect this.)

* * *

><p>He made Mags smile, the first time he met her. The difference was: she taught him how to sharpen his teeth and show it to the entire world, and the entire world adored him for it.<p>

* * *

><p>Instead, it goes like this:<p>

The morning is bright and blue and beautiful, and there's nothing better that Muscida Selkirk likes to do so early in the morning than to try and pick apart the mystery of Finnick's soulmate, instead of paying attention to the tributes. It's a hobby of his.

"Any luck?" He asks, head tilted enough so his uncombed mess of black hair falls over his eyes.

It's a good enough for a hello as any. They don't talk much.

"Not yet." Finnick shrugs, sitting himself on an opposite chair. They're gathered in the same carriage to inspect the competition, to discuss the tributes and how they're going to train them, and for small-talk, the topic of conversation is soulmates, yet again. He's the unlucky one, to Muscida, at least.

He's nineteen, and his mouth is getting sweeter with each passing year. Finnick doesn't care too much about his soulmate, or lack thereof.

He grins at Librae. "Been thinking about getting rid of it, actually."

It's an old script they have, comforting in the worst of ways. Fate, destiny, whatever unknown method the Timers use in order to function, ignores him and leaves his Timer blank. In return, he covers his wrist with netting and trinkets, and keeps the broken thing as a reminder. His 'soulmate' neither cares nor wants to meet him. He likes them better for it.

"Go on, do it." Ron says, challenging him, always ready to rise to the bait. "Who says they work anyway?"

"No. We're not having this conversation again." Librae mutters, scooping the frosted icing off her cupcake with her finger. She scowls at Finnick. "I thought I wasn't going to need a drink this early in the morning, but you always know how to prove me wrong, Stafford." She huffs, turning her attention back to Ron, lips curled disdainfully. "Every fuckingtime."

"Hey, now," Ron hands her a bottle of root beer. "I'm not the one starting the conversation."

"No, you're right. You're the one continuing it." Librae snaps, ringlets of curly hair bouncing.

"And all of you are obsessed with my soulmate." Finnick says, stretching out his legs on the table. "Is true love that important?"

"A soulmate isn't true love." Ron says

Muscida frowns. "Yes it is."

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway. I got bigger fish to fry." Finnick shrugs.

"Odair." Librae glares, nose wrinkles, just as Mags snorts. "You promised."

"Just this once." Finnick grins, boyish charm at his best, only serving to infuriate her. Librae's eyes narrow.

"Fine."

"Why do you care so much, Muscida?" Mags asks, eyes sombre, and it should be a natural end to the conversation. It would be, if Mags had asked any of the others—they'd take the hint and say no more about it.

But Muscida Selkirk has always been a little bit different from the rest of the Victors.

"I worry, is all." It's spoken simply, matter of fact, and Finnick resents him a little for his sincerity. There can be no doubt about it.

Muscida Selkirk has always been one of the lucky ones. And among the District Four Victors, he's the luckiest.

"Been there, done that." Ron spits, like it's the dirtiest thing he's ever heard. "It didn't work. Soulmates aren't our fucking salvation."

"He's got a point, Selkirk." Librae agrees, honey blonde hair falling over her shoulders. "Fuck off."

* * *

><p>Muscida Selkirk is as old as shit, but that's not the fucking problem. The fucking problem, is that he means well. Out of the five District Four Victors, he's the one happy with his soulmate, the closest to a gift-wrapped package of goodness that is never meant to be lorded over them. But—<p>

But it is.

He means well. Finnick knows. Of course he does. Sure he does. Finnick will humour him and ask Muscida, when he's in a better mood, who his soulmate might be. Whether it's a girl or a boy, and make snarky comments when it's seems a little too good to be true.

It's times like those that Ron will call the both of them fools.

* * *

><p>But, see, Finnick signed on willingly. He got the Timer when he was twelve, and hoped that the person just for him, girl or boy, was someone special. Someone worth believing in. Someone who he could wrap his entire around.<p>

And then—

And then the Games happened, and he was reaped, and he survived, and things were different.

* * *

><p>He thought about it, during the Victory Tour, during the first Hunger Game he was a mentor, and the first time he was on his knees for the good of the Capitol. He thought about it a lot, whether he should just get the Timer removed, and if that would make it easier.<p>

It hurt to look at his wrist and see the Timer without a countdown. It hurt to think that maybe he wasn't supposed to have one, and that was that.

His soulmate could already be dead.

* * *

><p>In the end, Finnick keeps his Timer as a reminder. He likes the weight of it on his wrist, likes that he can cover his wrist in pretty bangles and bracelets and shells and nets, and tease anyone who dares ask what his Timer says.<p>

A soulmate, Finnick figures, isn't as useful as the secrets he's beginning to keep.

What's a soulmate anyway?

* * *

><p>"Finn, the problem is," Muscida says, two years ago, plaid shirts half-hanging over his jeans that he's forgotten to tuck in again, "I don't know what I'm talking about either."<p>

"Yeah," Finnick says, sounding sour, closing his eyes and trying to relax to the sound of the waves, "because that's the problem."

It was supposed to be a fishing trip. Not another chat.

"I want you all to be happy." He sighs, like that's the problem Finnick's the last one now, who doesn't know who is soulmate is. Librae found out a few months back, still furious about it.

"And some device is going to make that happen?" Finnick raises an eyebrow, looking at Muscida with scepticism. His wrinkles are begging to show. He looks old. Strong, sturdy, ready to haul a mountain on his shoulders if he needs to, but old, nonetheless.

"Yes." Muscida replies simply, unshakable in his belief, despite Ron's bitterness. "You must have believed that once, too. Maybe some part of you does now. Why else keep it?"

Alright, so maybe Finnick believed. Once upon a time while he still wet behind the ears.

"It's a hassle to get it removed. You know that." Finnick scowls, and it's not—it's not like he believes anymore, alright? It's not like he's waiting for the numbers to appear. It's a comforting weight on his wrist, one that he forgets is even there half the time because it doesn't really do anything at all.

"Right." Muscida says, placating, and neither of them mention how Librae clawed her Timer off because it wasn't supposed to be like this, it wasn't supposed to be—

And Finnick asks, while the two of them begin to fish, who his soulmate is meant to be.

* * *

><p>Is a soulmate still a soulmate, without the Timer on your wrist telling you it is?<p>

* * *

><p>Sometimes it's like this: Finnick's soulmate is a boy with a crooked nose and scarred hands.<p>

Sometimes it's like this: Finnick's soulmate is a girl with the prettiest grin and the wickedest sense of humour.

Librae will add: the boy will have broken fingernails and scratch your skin raw, the girl will never love you the way you want her to.

Ron won't comment. He drinks instead.

Mags says: it's up to you, Finn. It's always up to you.

* * *

><p>Maybe Muscida doesn't really care about who his soulmate is, after all. He just likes the possibilities, the endless variations until the final answer reveals itself, and happiness comes in a box, tied up neatly in a bow, waiting to be opened.<p>

It's the principle of the thing, the security a soulmate promises, the idea people keep foisting onto children's belief's while the countdown reaches its dead-end.

And, who needs happiness, a soulmate, a safety net, when Finnick is losing himself in water, submerging himself in sweat and sex, and dissolving like sugar cubes.

* * *

><p>Mags is as old as shit, too. But that's different. Everyone likes Mags. Mags is old, older than Muscida, but still, it's a general rule not to badmouth Mags.<p>

Everyone envies Mags, because she's been granted a boon and a curse that the other Careers can never have.

(Finnick could have. If he wanted. The numbers weren't there. The countdown never appeared. If he wanted. If he wanted, he could live without ever knowing. It would still be a life well lived.)

They all could have. It's never too late to take the Timer away and strip them of whatever destiny holds in store for them, only—

Maybe they're all cowards. The whole lot of them, and that's why after they survive, coming home like driftwood on the shore, in splintered, rotten pieces, they hold on to the Timer for that last shred of hope.

Mags is happy. The only one closest to that happiness is Muscida, and even then—

It's not the same and they all know it.

* * *

><p>The Victors sit in silence, mulling over the tributes from the other districts. The morning is bright and blue and beautiful. The morning is silent save for the sound of the train on the tracks.<p>

"Poor girl," Ron says, voice gravelly, the first to speak about the inevitable, "She'd nearly escaped as well."

"Huh?" Librae looks up, curious. It makes her look years younger, and it makes Finnick wonder how Librae is older than him by a few years. "How old?"

"Eighteen." Mags says, because of course she knows.

"Ah." Muscida says, for lack of anything else. "That'll be in her favour."

Finnick folds his arms across his chest. "What about Ellis?"

Mags knows that too. "Fourteen."

"Could be a winner." He tilts his head to the side, thoughtful.

"God knows we need more tributes like you, Finn." Ron snorts, and Finnick is too far away to hit him.

He's close enough to tell him to shut up, however.

* * *

><p>Librae stands. Rolls her shoulders, and winces when they click. "I'm going to go for a walk. Need to stretch my legs."<p>

"We're half-way there. Go and see them." Theo says, opening the door and entering.

"Fine." Librae says, pushing past. "I'll go first. Finnick, with me."

"Oh, is that how it is?" Finnick leers, unable to resist, as he slips into the corridor.

"In your dreams, Odair." She says, walking off and not looking back.

* * *

><p>Listen.<p>

It goes like this:

The afternoon is bright and blue and beautiful. The afternoon is silent save for the sound of the train on the tracks. It's a poor substitute for the sea, closer to the patter of rain hitting the windowsills, but it'll do, each tribute from District Four tells themselves, the first time, the last time, the next time until they can no longer believe it. It'll do.

Finnick opens the door and greets Annie with a smile. She isn't looking at him; too busy gazing out the window, her hand carded through Edward Ellis' hair. The light reflected on her face makes her seem more breakable.

He's never really liked this part.

"Hello Annie Cresta." Finnick says, getting her attention this time.

The boy on her lap continues to sleep, and Annie turns towards him, mouth parting presumably to return the greeting and—

Just like that, it all goes to hell.

The Timers on their wrists go off. Edward Ellis sleeps on.

"Oh," Annie says, a dazed quality in her voice like she hasn't realized that she's spoken aloud. Her shoulders sink even lower, tousled hair curling over the slopes. She blinks, quick to realize what this means, quicker than Finnick because—because—

Her hand stills on the sleeping boy's head. "Oh no."

* * *

><p>There's this myth that knowing who your soulmate is means that you will instantly be in love. It'll be heart eyes and smooth sailing and easy, knowing who your predestined other is. According to the Capitol, it's the greatest gift District Three could ever give.<p>

It might have been the case for Muscida and Julian, happy together for at least twenty, thirty years. It might have been the case for a thousand other people in the Districts, in the Capitol.

But it's not for Librae, it's not for Ron, and it certainly isn't for Finnick.

* * *

><p>"So." Finnick says, not sure what to say. He didn't expect this. He thought—"You're… mine."<p>

Her mouth presses into a thin line, a flash of anger existing like lightning across glimmering sea water.

He thought—

"Yes." Annie says, blinking until the anger fades, seeping only into a sea green sadness.

He thinks about taking the bangles off his wrist, except what's the point. He knows what he'd see. The countdown's hit zero.

He hadn't even thought he had a countdown.

How long had it been since Finnick gave up on even thinking his soulmate would ever even buy the damn thing?

"I didn't want this." He tells her, his thoughts beginning to unwind, to get past the initial thought of impossible, and this is awful because—

It hits him at once that maybe Annie Cresta didn't want the Timer at all and that's why—

What the fuck is a soulmate anyway?

To Muscida, it's unequivocally synonymous to happiness. To Mags, it's the husband she picked in sickness and health, the one she wants to come home to, after the Games yet again happen. To Ron, it's a lie, a pointless risk, that's telling him to spend his life with someone he doesn't like, and he will forge his own path. To Librae, it's a meaningless word now. It used to mean hope. It doesn't mean anything now.

What does the word mean to Finnick Odair?

He thought—

He should have expected this. It's stupid of him, really, to not expect this. It's stupid of him to think that his soulmate didn't exist. It's stupid of him to never imagine that his soulmate might be another tribute.

(He thought—well, maybe—he'd meet his soulmate when he was older. Not when he's nineteen.)

Annie looks down, sighing, just as Edward begins to stir, and she can't smooth the pain away by running her hands through his hair. They know each other. They're close. That make the Games for them that much worse.

Break the ice, Finnick, he tells himself, you can do this.

When she speaks again, she's looking out the window. She looks as lost as he feels, standing, stripped bare of all the smart remarks he should have brought into the room to make 'em laugh.

"Me either." Annie says, soft and resigned and ready to die in the Arena without a fight.


	4. brontide

_brontide_

(the low rumbling of distant thunder)

* * *

><p>In a stark white room of the Justice Building, Annie sits, light green dress smoothed over her knees. It's the kind of green that makes her skin seem too pale and brings out the beauty of her sea green eyes. Or so her father tells her.<p>

She still doesn't feel anything, encased in some cocoon that shields her from feeling anything. She is numb, and might as well be wading into water, sand slipping in the space between her toes, her parents' embrace the constant tug of the sea.

_Smile. Put a brave face on. Tell yourself you can be strong enough. Try to believe it._

Her mother's hands are rough against Annie's face, palms turned callous from slicing fish, and she angles Annie's chin with her finger and thumb.

"Remember, they can only take you so far." Sophie Cresta says, voice rough, trying to remain calm. She's spent too long wearing a brave face that Annie knows that her mother can wear no other. "Annie. Remember your strengths. Use them."

"I will."

Annie nods, and her mother lets go.

Her father's embrace is so hard that Annie can't breathe.

"_Dad,_" Annie says, nose wrinkling, and then stops, trying to cherish their last moments together.

"Sorry." Zeke Cresta mumbles, mouth pressed to her hair, a gentle kiss. He hold loosens marginally. "You were nearly out, Annie, I'd hoped—"

"Yeah." She can't bear for him to finish that thought. It's too late for that. What's done is done. "I know."

"You're a good kid. If you set your mind to it—"

"—I can do anything." Annie says, pulling her father closer, palms flat against his shoulder blades. Her heart twists, a muscle that beats and breaks in equal measure.

Zeke kisses her cheek, stubble scratching.

"Show them what you're made of."

* * *

><p>She sits in the room for a very long time, enveloped in silence, trying to gather her thoughts.<p>

When the door opens, she half-expects it to be Neptune, or a person from District Three, come to force the Timer onto her wrist.

It's Coral.

Red faced and washed out, but warm and familiar, and Annie clings to her. Annie can't be brave any longer. Her tears fall, and there must be bravery in that, somehow.

"Annie, oh, _Annie."_

If she asked, what would Coral say?

Annie closes her eyes and pushes the thought away. Only—

"I'll look after him." Annie promises, fierce. "Teddy's going to—"

A world without Teddy Ellis is inconceivable. It's not possible. It doesn't exist. Teddy Ellis, armed with messy hair, infectious laughter and sticky fingers. Annie had it all planned out with Coral: he's going to be a force to be reckoned with, like his idol, he shared his sister's skill with knife-throwing, he was growing up to be kind, picking up on Annie's pastime for painting shells and he'd collect some after school. He liked that Annie made sea-shell bracelets just for him, and proudly he'd show it off to all his friends.

"He's going to be alright." Annie says with finality.

Coral's shoulder fall, and Annie can't tell whether it's from relief or resignation because no matter what happens, even if one of them survives, it's never going to be the same. Anguish slopes into the weariness of her spine, like the weight of loss is too much to care, even with Annie's reassurance. There's no guarantee they'll survive.

"What about you?" Coral asks, her features marred by worry.

Annie's mouth goes dry.

Annie can't lie for shit. She inherited that from her father. The trick, Zeke tells her with a toothy grin, and an impish look towards Sophie, as she predictably rolls her eyes, is to neither lie nor tell the truth.

("Zeke, dear," Sophie says, voice dry as a bone, "how often has that worked out _well_ for you?")

Annie says, lips quirked, "I'll figure something out."

* * *

><p><em>Him or me?<em>

It's there on the tip of her tongue, a pearl in her mouth.

_If you could choose, who would you pick?_

* * *

><p>"Hey, don't be like that! You do a lot worse than the Great Finnick Odair."<p>

"Famed for his modesty and his charming smile." Annie remarks, unable to help it. She threads her fingers through Teddy's curly locks. "They never told me that you referred to yourself in third person."

"Made you smile, didn't I?" Finnick grins winningly, and it takes a second to realize that he's right.

"Guess you did." Annie blinks, not quite sure what else there is to.

They fall into silence after that, and Teddy's eyes flutter open. He'll be in for a pleasant surprise.

"Did I miss much?"

"There's someone here to meet you, Teddy." Annie says, pretending like her heart isn't twisting. "Want to say hello?"

"'Kay." Rubbing his eyes, Teddy sits up, mouth gaping once it registers that it's Finnick Odair here. Finnick Odair, his long-time hero. He gasps. "You're _Finnick Odair._"

"That's right." Finnick's teeth widen, sharp and gleaming. "You're… Teddy?"

"I'm Teddy Ellis!" Cheeks beet red, it's adorable how pleased Teddy is because _Finnick Odair knows his name._

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Finnick says, sounding sincere. There's no trace of the horror on his face that existed minutes ago. He acts cool and calm and comfortable as if nothing uncomfortable has happened here and the Timer on his wrist hasn't suddenly ended its countdown.

Annie keeps quiet, letting Teddy be as enthusiastic as he wants, starry-eyed over his hero, his _favourite_ Victor, and speaks the bare minimum.

* * *

><p>They meet Librae Ogilvy next, her feet stomping well in advance to announce her presence, pink-faced as she opens the door.<p>

"Oh good. Another green eyed one." She says, breathlessly. "Victoria will like that."

"Um." Teddy says, just as Annie asks, "Who's Victoria?"

"Our beloved stylist. She tends to do impressive costumes that the Capitol likes." Finnick explains.

"And she's hopelessly in love with you, as we all know." Librae rolls her eyes.

"What can I say? I've got great eyes." Finnick flutters his eyes at her, and smirks. "District Four's speciality."

"Mmhm. Of course it is." Librae clucks her tongue, already disinterested by the topic of conversation. Her expression brightens as she directs her question to them. "So, what do you think of Finn?"

"Really great!" Teddy says instantly.

Annie shrugs.

"Oh, I know the feeling." Librae says darkly, glaring at Finnick, and then in a chirpier tone asks, "Who's hungry?"

* * *

><p>The other Victors are waiting in the dining carriage, in the middle of a feast. Ron Stafford is glaring at Muscida Selkirk.<p>

"Not until they've eaten." He says, frown deepening. "Not. One. Word."

"Fine." Muscida agrees, disheartened but willing to let the matter go. He clears his throat. "The food is great! Have a taco!"

It's impossible not to feel Mags' gaze, Annie thinks as she makes her way to the table and seats herself comfortably on the chair. She offers a lukewarm smile in her direction, relieved when the gesture is returned.

It would be nice if she could lose herself in lunch, without the Games or the inevitable conversation topic about soulmates looming over them. Especially when Finnick is sitting so close to her. A silent deal is made: she won't make any eye contact with him, and in return, Finnick won't ask her any questions.

For a while, they talk about nothing, small trivialities in order to feel relaxed, and Teddy is more than happy to tell them about how Annie is best friends with his sister. He has plenty of stories to get them into trouble. Annie can't help but flush, and returns the favour with her own anecdotes, giggling when his round cheeks turn tomato red.

It's inevitable for a reason, and Annie's stomach plummets the second Ron grimaces and nods, setting his knife and fork down with a clutter.

"So tell me about your soulmates." Muscida says.

"Goddammit, Selkirk, you _cannot _help yourself, can you?" Librae snaps, brows furrowing.

Everyone seems to be oblivious to how Finnick freezes, and Annie hates that she's acutely aware of that—

"I'm _curious!_" Muscida protests. "And it's not like Caesar's _not _going to pry. So what if I ask the question everyone wants to know now and not later?"

"Because nobody except _you_ wants to know. And if you really wanted to know, you could have done it after we'd finished eating." Librae says, expression turned thunderous. "You've made me lose my appetite." She mutters bitterly.

Annie looks down, itching to tear the Timer off her wrist. Teddy fidgets.

"I'm supposed to meet my soulmate when I'm thirty." Teddy offers, eyes bright.

"Thirty's a good age," Muscida says, nodding encouragingly. The tense atmosphere seems to dissipate after that, and Muscida talks in a calm and reassuring voice that makes the topic not so bad after all. He smiles warmly. "You'll have an entire life before you meet them. You'll thrill them with your stories." There's something soothing in the way he says this, although Annie can't put her finger on it. All she knows is that it's a good thing that he seems to be the kind of person that when they smile, it reaches their eyes. "What about you, Annie?"

"I…" Annie looks down, the palm of her hands settling on her thighs, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. She deliberately obscures the Timer on her wrist. She thinks of Neptune then, the way his mouth shaped the words I love you pressed against her heart. Her heart had skipped a beat and then she'd been so sure that her chest would burst. Now her heart is pounding, and she's positive that her chest is really going to burst.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." Finnick says loftily, his bored expression betraying nothing. It scares her a little, how opaque he is.

"It's alright. Really." Annie says, deciding that she might as well try and get used to question before Caesar asks. She might not be a gifted liar, but she can get better at having a practiced response. She steels herself as she looks at him, in all his bronze beauty. "I'm meant to meet my soulmate soon."

_"Interesting._" Muscida says, thoughtfully, the expression on his face distinctly reminding Annie of busybodies and people her mother did not care for in the slightest. "Very interesting."

"Tell me about your strengths," Mags says, out of the blue, and Annie is quick to point out that Teddy is great with knives.

* * *

><p>"I'd paint you red if I could." Victoria tells her with a wide smile, purple lips waxy and bright as she sighs blissfully. "It would make your eyes even lovelier."<p>

Mags shakes her head, disapproving.

"I don't think that would be a good idea." Annie mumbles, feeling plain and washed out by the colour Victoria exudes. It hurts her eyes, looking at her too much.

"Next time, perhaps" Victoria demurs, slipping her disappointment away as easily as discarding a coat. "There'll be another green-eyed tribute."

"Or victor." Mags adds, and Victoria smiles and nods with glassy eyes.

"Or victor, yes."

Teddy doesn't have green eyes. He's too much like his sister, flaxen haired and blue eyed, slight but wiry.

"You're lucky I like the sea." Victoria says, chipper, speaking as if Annie had something in response. She combs through Annie's knots of hair. Humming, an idea evidently sparks in her mind. "I can use that."

* * *

><p>Her hair gets chopped short, short, short. She loses the locks of hair that fall past her shoulders and stream in every direction whenever she's submerged in bathwater.<p>

She can't stop touching her neck, stunned not because it exists, but because she's so unused to her hair not being _there._ A bob cut, it's called, apparently all the rage in the Capitol. Her neck feels strange and lonely without the veil of wavy hair that crept past her shoulders.

"Hair grows back." Annie says, mildly, not minding the end result even as her fingers slip through and reach air so much easier now. Her neck looks slim like this. "It's not a bad look."

"You look really pretty, Annie." Teddy says, when he sees her, his own hair combed and neatened and not so different to the mornings he actually took the time to brush his hair.

"Thanks." Annie says, tweaking his nose and laughing when he bats her hand away.

Her neck feels cold.

* * *

><p>Victoria turns them into the sea, white clothes fading into turquoise blue. Before the chariot rides begin, Annie embraces Teddy.<p>

_Mine_, she thinks, greedy and selfish and save, _Teddy is mine to protect and mind to look after._

"Annie!" Teddy says, pushing her back, nose wrinkling in disgust. "Not here, okay?"

"Fine. But you are getting hugged later." Annie tells him, in no uncertain terms. "So you be ready for that."

Her thoughts turn to Neptune as she looks out into the crowd and feels lean and mean and hungry. She wonders if he's placed his bets on her, or he'd look at her and know what her endgame plan was already.

Annie doesn't even think about after. She won't let herself.

She smiles and waves and puts her brave face on.

Her parents would like that.

* * *

><p>Mags nods approvingly, Ron tells her she did good. She can see Librae and Finnick crowd Teddy and tell him similar things. She tries to breathe.<p>

* * *

><p>Finnick shows her how to change the walls into whatever she wants, and predictably, Annie turns her room into the sea, turning her head in wonder. She laughs when she notices that Finnick's face is blue, and he grins at her with blue teeth.<p>

It's nice.

And then it's not.

"So," Finnick says, awkwardly, and Annie tenses, knees to her chest, back pressed to the wall. She's never going to be ready for this conversation. Brave face. This is the only privacy they might ever have. And privacy, under the Capitol's eye, is hard to find. "Soulmates."

It sounds like a curse.

"Yeah." Annie says, her voice sounding empty and hollow and like she's been sucker punched. It's feels like she's been sucker punched, after all the adrenaline has faded away. "So it would seem."

He clears his throat. "I never asked—when did you—"

"Yesterday." Annie interrupts, answering his question abruptly instead of waiting to hear the end of question.

You only get one chance at finding your soulmate. Maybe she should have ripped it off the second it was over. Maybe that would have been better. And then what would Caesar have said? What would he have asked? It's a well known fact that Caesar Flickerman ends his interview with a question about the tribute's soulmates. Why else would it be mandatory to have them? "I'd hoped that it would be another Tribute."

Three days. Two weeks. It's difficult to call someone you're supposed to kill your destined other. It makes it hard to form attachments that way.

It's been less than a day since Annie met Finnick, and her feelings towards him are nebulous at best.

Finnick whistles.

"You really know how to bruise an ego." He says, glib.

A lot of people would have loved to be Finnick Odair's soulmate, Teddy included.

Annie? She's just being honest.

"I didn't want to know who my soulmate was." Annie shrugs, leaning her head back, and looks at the ocean ceiling. Tries to imagine the sunlight above the water. She's bitter too. "Do we even know that they really work?"

"Ron's going to love you if you answer one of Muscida's questions like that." Finnick snorts, face transforming into a fond smile. Obviously it would be some that he was used to, the arguments old, but nonetheless, the same. He closes his eyes, delighted. "I can see it already."

"Doesn't it give you a headache?"

"All the time. And yet it's all anyone seems to talk about, besides the Games." Finnick says, sea green eyes glimmering beneath ebony lashes.

"So what do we do? About… this." Annie says, careful.

"You want me to decide our tragic love affair?" Finnick grins, like he's unable to help but make light of it.

"You make it sound so dramatic." Annie frowns. It doesn't have to be. It could be a quiet affair, and nobody needs to know. The thought sobers her, like she's been doused in water. "You're the one with the reputation, Finnick. You need to think about that. About our… situation. What happens now, and after."

She can't say the word. She's spent so long not believing that it's hard to start.

"You sound like you have it planned out already." Finnick says, head cocked to the side.

"There's a plan." Annie agrees, allowing herself to accept her fate in increments so that it doesn't feel like she's swallowed poison, but come to term with her grief, her inevitable death. "I just have to stick to it."

"You know that plan will probably go to hell, right?" Finnick says, no judgement in his voice, stating it like a matter of fact.

"I'll adapt." Annie answers simply. She's not stupid. Stubborn, yes, but not stupid. "But you're not here to talk about tactics, are you?"

"Nope," Finnick says, popping the 'p'. "Not tonight, at least. I wanted to know how you were doing."

She touches the back of her neck. She hasn't been able to stop herself, checking it from time to time, in case she's being careless. Forgetful. She thinks of Jones. "I think I'm okay." She means to leave it at that, but her heart aches, and she can't stop herself from talking. "No, I'm… nervous. Scared."

Her shoulders fall.

"That's what your mentor is here for." Finnick says, turning up the charm, sounding incredibly charismatic. "I can tell you right now that everything in the next few days is going to be a breeze. It'll be a cinch."

"Bullshit." Annie replies instantly, and bursts out laughing. She's hysterical, Annie thinks, and tries not to hear the desperation shading her voice each time she breathes for air.

"Isn't it?" Finnick grins, his teeth so very sharp.

Annie wrinkles her nose, disdainful. "How often does that line actually work?"

"Depends on how much the person likes me." Finnick admits, his voice turning back to normal, a less flirty cadence.

Teddy would have believed him.

Annie leans her head back. "So if that's what my mentor would say, what would my soulmate say?"

Finnick doesn't answer. Not immediately. Not for a while.

They sit uncomfortably in silence with nothing to say to each other.

Eventually, he asks, "What would you want your soulmate to say?"

She was afraid of that. She didn't want the question to be redirected like holding a mirror to the sun. Later, she'll wonder if she's grateful that he phrased it exactly as he did, or if she's sad it had be asked so carefully.

"I don't know." Annie says, finally. She stretches her legs. "A lie. The truth. Something. Nothing."

Maybe how to face death with a smile on her face. To say to all the watchers that today is a good day to die. To teach her how to make sure that Teddy got through unscathed.

"Then how am I supposed to know?" Finnick asks, the edge of teasing audible.

Annie shrugs. She'd assumed there'd be some intrinsic connection between them now. Coral always said there would be. But honestly they still feel like strangers, the furthest things a soulmate should be.

Guess she was wrong about that too.

"What are we meant to do with soulmates anyway?" Annie asks, suddenly. As far as she's concerned, it's a piece of knowledge that isn't worth any practical value.

"Fuck knows." Finnick lets his shoulder drop, sighing. "It's—I think it's a sign that destiny wants two people to meet at a specific point in our lives."

"And then what?" Annie muses, digging her heels to the ground. Three, four days isn't much.

"And then anything, I guess." Finnick says, considering. "Anything that happens is up to us. A soulmate can be anything you want them to be."

She wants her parents. She wants Coral. She wants Neptune.

Annie's curled into herself before she even realizes.

"A friend." Annie says, at last, her head buried in her arms, voice muffled. Her brave face has long been discarded in the watery depths of hell.

"Hey," Finnick says, warm and comforting and gentle. It's the first time Annie can feel like she's able to trust him, and the relief she feels is overwhelming. "I can be exactly that."

* * *

><p>There was this boy Annie once knew. Jacob something, Annie recalls. He had a name that was something along those lines. Didn't care for love, just wanted a best friend. He got his Timer the day he turned twelve, came to school proud as hell that he only had ten days to wait. He got himself a best friend forever called Lysander. A few years later he got himself a girlfriend, and as far as Annie knew, they were happily in love.<p>

So it could be done.

Even though Coral had turned up her nose at the news and told her that it was inevitable that the non-soulmate relationship would end, and the soulmates would fall in love, Annie had thought back to the days Jacob had been excited in wanting nothing more than a best friend. She hoped they hadn't.

It could be done, Annie tells herself when she wakes up and thinks about them, it's not an impossible feat.

She could have a soulmate and be in love with someone else.

* * *

><p>In the morning, Mags and Ron are there at the breakfast table, ready to prepare them and to go over what they're supposed to do the next few days.<p>

"Check out the stations. Pick up a few techniques." Ron advises them, shovelling his mouth with toast that smells strongly of whiskey.

"Make sure you keep an eye on the other Careers. Tell us if you want to make an alliance with them." Mags says. "You've already seen them last night, and you've got two more days to think about it, so you don't have to make up your minds right away."

"Or in the Arena." Teddy says, not to be deterred.

"Or in the Arena." Mags agrees, her smile a grim line. "But they'll be more suspicious of you then."

"I always figured it would be the other way around." Annie murmurs, slicing a pear methodically, first into quarters, then the skin. "At least in the Arena, you don't have to play nice."

"Point." Ron nods. "It depends on the Games and the Tributes more than anything else."

"That's something to consider." Mags nods, head inclined. "Take a good look at your potential allies, see if you can make use of them before forming a concrete plan."

"Where are the others?" Annie asks, gazing around as the clock ticks by and it becomes apparent that they're not going to wish them luck. She's not sure whether it's a relief or not that it's only two Victors with them now, instead of all four like it was in the train carriage.

A relief, Annie decides, it's a definite relief.

"Let's see… Librae's sleeping. Muscida's a morning person, he's awake and already eaten, and he's probably off talking to sponsors already. Finnick… tends to be a bit unpredictable." Theo answers. It's impossible to tell if he's annoyed or not. "I didn't catch him this morning, so it could be either."

"He's up." Mags informs him. "He wanted to get an early start."

"Well, either way, they'll be back for dinner." Theo smiles, serene. "There's no need to worry, you'll see them soon."

"And then regret that you ever did." Librae yawns, stumbling forward as she makes herself walk towards the table and fails to navigate around several pieces of furniture. She yawns again as she sits down and joins then. "But that's Finnick for you."

* * *

><p>"It's just you and me, Ted." Annie says as they make their way down, never one for silent elevator rides. "Think you're up to it?"<p>

"Scout and acquire." Teddy says, and it's enough to make Annie ruffle his hair.

"Got it in one."

* * *

><p>It's impossible not to feel scanned and assessed as she makes her way to the incomplete circle, the number four stuck on her back.<p>

Annie's had enough time to practice her brave face, her bored face, and with that face, she directs her gaze at the non-Career districts. When she meets the eyes of the Careers, she trades her contempt to curiosity. Almost a challenge.

* * *

><p>"Survival or technique?" Teddy asks. "Ron made me promise I'd follow your lead."<p>

"Don't you always?" Annie teases gently, keeping her voice low. Even quieter, she asks. "When did he do that?"

"Today, just before we left." He huffs, embarrassed.

Annie hums. "Survival. I want to try out my memory."

As it turns out, she's pretty bad at it.

Teddy's a little better. Annie scowls at him.

* * *

><p>"How about knots next?"<p>

"Knots?" Annie raises an eyebrow. "You mean you don't want to try the trident like the Great Finnick Odair?"

"Shut up!" Teddy hisses, flushing. "We can try that another day."

"Alright, fine." Annie says, grinning, impish, and starts moving towards the knots section. "But I'm telling Coral about your great big crush on Finnick."

"She already knows." He mutters quickly, and Annie forgets for a second, remembers, and feels awful. "It's Finnick Odair. How can you _not?_"

"Good point." Annie nods, on the verge of agreeing with him. She slows her pace as she mulls over an appropriate response that will no doubt annoy him. "But his face."

He gapes. "I'm going to tell Finnick!"

"About his face?" Annie can't hold back a grin, just about able to refrain from laughing. It's very cute. "Yeah, I think he'll be really surprised to know that he has one."

Receiving Teddy's death glare is worth it, Annie feels.

* * *

><p>Someone's watching them.<p>

It takes a little while for Annie to realize that it's the Tributes from District One. They're big and burly and make everything a show, proving how good they are with their weapons and successfully intimidating the other Tributes.

It's not entirely unexpected. Mags said this would happen.

Teddy hasn't said anything about potential allies, ad Annie isn't sure what to make of them just yet.

* * *

><p>"I'm Lorenzo." The tribute from District Two says, introducing himself by grabbing the District Four bread and handing it to them. "Hey, hi."<p>

"Ren, oh my god, Ren." The other tribute says, rolling her eyes and not even bothering to muffle her exasperation. "We're not here to make friends."

"_I_ am." Lorenzo replies, affronted. "_I_ like talking to new people."

"That's good," She says, deadpanning. "So you know what to say before you kill them?"

"Whoa, whoa. That is uncalled for." Lorenzo opens his mouth, like he's shocked that she'd say something like that. He turns back to Annie. "Nothing so crude. Since there's only going to be one winner, I feel like I might as well know what the other tributes are like before I bit it, or they do."

"Still sounds pretty dumb." She remains unimpressed.

"That's cause you're not fun, Juno." Lorenzo retorts.

"I'm just telling you how it is." Juno shrugs. "That chattiness is going to be the end of you."

"So be it." He replies, unfazed. "Just don't be the cat that cuts off my tongue."

"Don't tempt me." Juno says darkly.

Annie exchanges glances with Teddy. She's pretty sure the expression doesn't go like that.

"Your point?" Annie says, blunt, fairly certain that these two could bicker until the sun goes down. Lunch only lasts so long.

"Yeah, what do you want?" Teddy says, trying out a tough guy voice.

Annie represses a sigh. Any other time, but not now.

"Oh!" Lorenzo blinks, and grins, still friendly. "Yeah. I wanted to see if you two were interested."

Annie and Teddy look at each other.

"Well," Annie drawls, "I hate to say it, but you're no Finnick Odair."

Juno snickers. "Definitely not."

Lorenzo smiles at them, face too stretched and bright red. "What I meant," he clarifies, "is if you'd like to form an alliance?"

"Oh." Annie says, delicately. She pauses. "Can I get back to you on that one? I think we'll need some time to think it over."

_In private_ goes unsaid, but it's perfectly head, loud and clear.

"Sure, sure. I just wanted to give you two a head's up."

"What about District One?" Teddy asks.

Juno grins. "You leave that to me."

It's not a particularly pleasant grin.

* * *

><p>They try again at the memory plant test.<p>

"I'll be better." Annie narrows her eyes, huffing. "My greatest enemy."

Teddy laughs.

It's a marginal improvement.

* * *

><p>It may be stupid, but Annie really thought that the camouflage and painting station would be easier than it is. Her ability is limited to painting amateur bracelets on her wrist, on Teddy's, and tell him that what she'd really like to do is paint whiskers on his face.<p>

"So I look like a cat?" He asks sceptically.

"Please." Annie shakes her head. "So you look like a _seal."_

_"Annie._" Teddy says, one emotion shuttering on his face to another, and the playfulness transforms into alarm. "Annie, your _wrist."_

"What about it?" She tries to sound calm.

"You found your soulmate." He looks at her with wide eyes.

"Yeah." She nods, wishing that they didn't have to have this conversation at all. "He seems okay."

"So… what about your boyfriend?" He asks, unsure what's meant to happen now.

"I love Neptune." Annie says, keeping her voice low. She washes the paint away, in all its cartoonish glory. She's too used to drawing cursive lines and intersecting knots to make it seem anything other than ink stains. "That hasn't changed. It's not like I've stopped loving him." She says, firmly. "I don't think having a soulmate is going to change that, just because I know who mine is now."

She can't keep the anger in her voice away. She never _wanted_ a soulmate. But she has one now, and it's stupid.

"… are you sure?" Teddy says, hurt visible on his face. She didn't mean to lash out at him. It's just—

It's uncanny how much he reminds her of Coral right now. The unsaid promise hangs over her like a shadow.

Annie forgets, how much it's really stressed and emphasized that soulmates should be romantic when—

It shouldn't.

It shouldn't have to be.

Annie lifts an eyebrow. "You really think I can fall for someone in less than three days, even if I wasn't in love with someone else?"

"Wasn't it love at first sight with you and Neptune?"

"No," Annie says, softly, remembering the way Neptune grinned time and time against when she peeled the Timer from his inviting skin. "I wouldn't say so."

She feels like drawing his name on her body. Somewhere that he liked to kiss a lot. The palm of her hand. The corner of her mouth. Between her brow. Just the initials, so no one would understand.

She'd liked Neptune instantly, liked the look of his cocky smile and how he was sun-soaked and wearing water like a second skin, sure, that much was true.

But there's a long way between like and love, and it took until the middle of summer to realize that she was in love with Neptune Jones.

* * *

><p>"Have you ever skinned a fish?" Librae asks them over dinner.<p>

"Sure." Annie nods. "It's not that hard.

"Okay, good. You should remember that." Librae says, and Annie stills as the implication becomes clear a second later.

Theo looks at her in distaste. "You're telling them that when it's _dinnertime?" _He looks extremely put out. "I thought you were _civilized._"

"Hey. I'm just. Trying to help." Librae shifts uncomfortably. She looks at Muscida, who is far too interested in cutting up the steak into tiny squares. "I'm still not used to this mentoring thing, alright?"

"You get used to it." Muscida says, blithe. That's all he has to say on the matter.

Annie doesn't remember Librae's game, but then—she's only a few years _at most_ older than Finnick.

She and Finnick, they're the young ones, and it shows.

"Not really." Librae sighs, resting her face on her hand. "You keep telling me that you do, but I haven't yet."

* * *

><p>Annie wonders if Librae knows. There's something different in the way she looks at Annie, at Finnick, mouth curled like she's about to throw up.<p>

"Who am I meant to feel more sorry for?" Librae spits, uncaring if she's overhead by anyone. "The system's fucked up, Finn, you tell me that."

If Finnick has an answer, it's not an immediate one.

* * *

><p>The next day is much like the second.<p>

"You pick." Annie says to Teddy.

He nods. "Technique."

"Alright." They've both made a promise to not touch the knives until it comes to the Private Session. Well, Teddy's going to use the knives when it comes to the Gamemakers. It doesn't matter if Annie touches the knives, her aim is always slightly off. It doesn't matter if that's part of her con anyway, to perform less impressively while the Tributes are watching her. Let's see if District Two like her then.

She spends the majority of the first half on the climbing frames, hiding so she can have an eagle's eye view on the other tributes.

Philomena from District One catches her, glancing in her direction every once in a while. There's a steely look in her eyes, haughty and proud in a way that suggests that pride will be her downfall. She may not like her partner, but there's something eerily synchronized in the way they move and talk.

Augustus is a brute, there's no other way of describing him and how he flaunts his abilities in the training centre. He's bull-headed too, losing his temper at the slightest of things, but he turns red easily, like he's flattered the way Juno watches him, sinewy and catlike, smiling ever so prettily.

She learns from Teddy that District Five's tributes are siblings, a year apart, lean and mean, and eyes catching onto quick movements.

District Six's children are too young. You might win if you're fourteen like Finnick was, like Teddy is, but thirteen, and you might as well accept your doom.

In another life, Annie would have liked to be friends with the District Seven Tributes. There's something familiar about how they use the axe that isn't too dissimilar from handling a knife or a sword, and Annie thinks, if she's going mad, then perhaps it as well be with an axe than a knife. The girl, Rebecca, prefers to be by herself, and she seems to be the only tribute that is the same age as Annie. Everyone else looks a little too young. Rebecca will fight. The boy, Jason, stays quiet and thoughtful, tending to the shelter station and learning how to stay safe as best he can.

District Eight are useless and it's clear from the beginning that they'll be easy pickings. They've got no experience in fighting. They look tired, walk with sunken shoulders and have got rings under their eyes, like they've only known tiredness their entire lives and won't fight at all. Sarah is her name. Roger is his.

District Nine seems to be in the same league of awful. There's desperation to the way they interact, hardly ever standing still. It hurts to look at them. They build fires again and again and nervously, the girl twists her hair into braids, the boy gazes at the flames, riveted. Teddy thinks they might be soulmates.

No one seems to have much hope for the other Districts.

Librae openly called them fucked, and Annie can see why. They're all old enough to be successors, varying from fifteen to seventeen, but none of them have the confidence that Teddy has.

It could be a ploy, but Annie very much doubts it. It's the cold hearted Career in her that scorns the idea of them surviving the bloodbath.

If they live—

If they live, and Annie is there, and if push comes to shove—

It would be painless as she could make it. She can hear her mother's voice. Skinning a fish, slicing a throat, aiming a knight at the centre of their head. Put on your brave face. Play to your strengths.

She hears Librae now. Not necessarily hard, but not necessarily easy either.

"Alright, we're in." Annie says to Lorenzo over lunch.

"Awesome." Lorenzo beams, while Juno's deep in conversation with the District One Tributes.

"What are other Tributes like?" Teddy asks.

Annie adds, "Do they all have wonderful personalities?"

"Some." Lorenzo snorts. "District Eleven's in _particular_ are especially sparkling."

"Who were the friendliest?" Teddy asks, sharing a grin with her.

Lorenzo takes the question seriously, thinking about it before he answers. "Seven. Or Eight."

"Didn't Eight shout at you?" Teddy asks.

"He did. District Seven glared at me and walked away without saying a word. Rude." Lorenzo sniffs.

"Bet you anything the other Careers would have been even friendlier." Annie says.

"Juno would know." Lorenzo sighs, offhandedly. "Ah well, I have a few memories."

"If you survive, you'll have the footage too." Annie says, blithely. It's easier to talk about it when they're only being hypothetical. It's easier to talk when nobody's broached the topic of soulmates.

* * *

><p>She likes the weight of an axe in her hands. There's something reliable in how it balances just right that tridents and spears and knives don't have.<p>

* * *

><p>"Hey," Ron talks to her when they're alone. "I know that look. What are you planning?"<p>

"Nothing." Annie says, keeping her voice dead and emotionless.

"Right." Ron snorts, opening another bottle of beer. "Sure. 'Course you aren't. And I'm the village idiot." Annie says nothing, and he continues after he takes a hefty chug, tipping his head right back and exposing his throat. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "I know that look, Annie. I've seen that same expression on the Tributes too many times. I want to know why it's on yours."

"What look?" It doesn't suit her to play dumb, but it's a game Annie's willing to play.

He doesn't budge.

"I'm talking about that look you get whenever you think Teddy's not looking." Ron says, his voice steady and calm, a low rumble in his chest. "That look that says you're prepared to die for him."

"I am." Annie raises her chin.

He sighs, shoulders broad. "You can't protect him forever, Annie."

"I can damn well try." Annie snaps, fierce. She will not let this go without a fight.

"If you die, it'll break his heart." He says, eyes serious.

"Better me than him." Annie folds her arms over her chest, straightening her back. "I made a promise that Teddy Ellis is going to survive."

Coral is going to get her little brother back.

He barks out a laugh, one without any humour. He leans forward. "Your mind's made up. I might as well give a few tips before you go."

* * *

><p>Finnick's there for breakfast, the third day. He's meant to be there to wish her luck for the Gamemakers, instead he's changing topics and gossiping and acting flighty. It's a little bit unnerving, though there's no doubt it's meant to serve as a calming technique, trying to get their mind off the jitters.<p>

"Why did you let Victoria cut your hair so short?" He asks.

Annie shrugs. "Felt like a change."

Her hair is still brown. Her eyes are still green.

"I'd been meaning to get a haircut anyway."

She only notices later, but Finnick stinks of perfume, his gaze heavily lidded, and there's something not quite lucid in his expression.

But he smiles, and Teddy distracts her, and the jitters settle for a little bit at least.

* * *

><p>She trains by herself, wanting desperately to be left alone. Not even Teddy can untie the knots in her stomach.<p>

So she trains and she trains and she trains—

Annie trains, hands sore, stomach tightening into knots and tries to remember what her brave face is meant to look like.

* * *

><p>Teddy's staring at his knees and Annie's fingers are threaded in his hair.<p>

"You'll be fine, Ted." Annie says.

District Four are lucky that way. They're one of the first, so the Gamemakers aren't bored yet and their victors do a great job at making them seem worth sponsoring.

"You going to wish me luck or what?"

_Play to your strengths. It's just you and_ them.

"Good luck Annie." He says, exactly how Coral would say it, determined not to break.

She smiles. "You're going to be fine."

* * *

><p>Finnick tells them this much: "You don't have to be deadly, you can save that for the Arena. You just have to be competent. Being a Career? That's just an added bonus, they like you already. All you have to do is confirm that you're good."<p>

Hands sore, teeth clenched, Annie Cresta shows them exactly where her talents lie.

She might not be as good as District One or Two, but that doesn't mean that Annie is a force not to be underestimated.

* * *

><p>Teddy comes out all bashful smiles and glowing happiness.<p>

"I think I did okay."

* * *

><p>They chat about nothing in Annie's room, sprawled over the bed and imagining they're lying on a pier with a sunset just out of reach. The Capitol have the image of the sea beneath the sky, all they have to do is close their eyes and dream up the wind in their face.<p>

"Coral would hate it here." Annie says.

"Yup. No seagulls." Teddy shakes his head, flaxen hair messy again.

"No seagulls mean no sea." Annie agrees. Coral would say something like that. "It's good that she's not here."

"What about Neptune?" The duvet rustles as he shifts about.

"Jones?" Annie murmurs, considering. "I'm not sure. I don't think he wold either. But I'd like it a lot better if he was here."

"Oh I see how it is." He tries to sound offended.

She bumps her forehead with his. "You know what I meant."

"What about your soulmate?" Teddy asks, confused.

"What about him?" Annie asks, voice heavy. Given the choice, she'd still prefer Neptune's company over Finnick's.

"What's he like?" Curious, Teddy asks.

Annie wished he wasn't so much like Coral. That he believed as avidly as she did. Does, still. He's saving himself for the moment he meets his destiny. His heart might get broken, but he's willing to take that chance all the same. Because it's meant to be.

"He's…" What words are you meant to use to describe Finnick Odair? Someone Annie never wanted, never counted on destiny wanting them to meet. "… eh."

It's kind of hard to describe Finnick Odair anyway.

Teddy, oblivious, says, "'Cause he's not Jones?"

Annie nods. "'Cause he's not Jones."

* * *

><p>"How'd you do?" Finnick asks, grinning, like he already knows that they both did well.<p>

"Okay, I think." Annie nods, avoiding Ron's knowing gaze. "I did enough."

"What did you do?" Mags asks.

Annie answers simply. "Used an axed, threw it about."

Librae clucks her tongue. "That's, like, the bare minimum. It won't get you much of a high score, but it'll be decent, depending on the other Tributes."

Annie smiles grimly. "That's the plan."

Mags turns to Teddy.

"How about you?" Muscida asks, smiling warmly.

"I went for the knives and showed them how good I could be." He sounds proud of himself.

Muscida nods.

"Wonderful." Mags says, encouraging. "They know District Four has some strong contenders."

Annie grins and ignores the dread that seeps into her heart.

Come hell or high water, Teddy Ellis is surviving the Games.


	5. ayurnamat

_ayurnamat_

(the philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed)

* * *

><p>Librae was drunk the first time she told him about his soulmate. That she was a girl. That she will never love him the way he wants.<p>

He thinks about what she's added since then, the little throwaway details that mean nothing now, the crooked nose, the scarred hands, the prettiest grin, the wickedest sense of humour, the broken fingernails digging deep into his skin that it becomes raw. He grins until it hurts. He's been thinking about her words a lot these past few days.

He's drunk tonight when Librae knocks on his door, and he smiles like his cheeks don't hurt at all, like he swallowed glass instead of beer, and he can still feel it going down his throat, past his lungs, past his heart.

He asks her in a throaty voice, _tell me more about her._

Her thumb grazes over his wrist, the cursed one with the frozen countdown hidden beneath knots of rope, and she drags him towards his bed. They've practiced the act of caring for each other so well that he can almost believe that it's more than a mockery of everything they hate.

How drunk are you?" Librae asks, not expecting an answer as she settles in his bed, draping her body over his as she takes the bottle by the stand and takes a sip. It's a familiar, warm weight. Her hand remains on his cursed wrist, and she squeezes without warning, pressing the bracelets that cover his Timer.

It's good that it hurts. It's supposed to.

"Coward," she says, and Finnick remembers this script of the game they play, filled with wolves' teeth and sheep's wool. He knows it well. "You started without me."

He's meant to smile sheepishly and say, _I know._

He's meant to say, _I'm sorry._

Instead, Finnick says, "My soulmate. Tell me more."

"Alright," Librae nods, letting go, the air between them cold as she thinks about it. It would be a lie to say she's completely sober, because if she was, she'd ask why he does this, why he thinks he deserves this, and the worse outcome she could possibly predict. Alcohol makes them both crueller than they should be, but they need this. He needs the cruelty Librae brings, and Librae needs to lash out, whenever they talk about soulmates. "She's tall. Black hair, almost dark like midnight. Her skin's not pale; it's burnt by the sun, splashed by the sea. A real sun baby. You could try all you like, but you'll never rid the salt off her skin."

Finnick asks, "How tall?"

"Taller than you." She shifts, and settles back onto him, her head on his shoulder, mussing up her hair against the satin sheets. "Yeah, I like the sound of that."

"I'm not that tall." He frowns.

Her nose wrinkles. "Please, Odair. You're tall. She's taller."

"Fine." A few millimetres taller. Why not?

"What about her eyes?"

"Brown." Librae decides instantly. "Brown like mud. Real, brown, rainy day mud. The kind that sticks on your boots forever."

"What an image." Finnick mutters, taking the beer bottle back and raises it to his lips, drains the contents entirely. Librae snorts.

"Isn't it?"

"Go on, tell me more about her." Finnick says.

It's a twisted game they play, always at his expense. It's one that Muscida likes to play to pass the time. The difference between Muscida and them is that Muscida is nice about it. Finnick's told his own share of horror stories, always aimed to make Librae flinch and lose her temper, and yet, somehow it was never as awful as the truth. It's just another twisted game they play. If nothing else, Librae and Finnick have always been the kind to be more bitter and cruel and harsh each time, because it's a game where no one wins, and both of them are sore losers.

He closes his eyes, and listens to her voice paint an image.

"Let's see. She'd have to be someone who can put up with your bullshit. Maybe she flirts, just like you. She's quick with words and even more careful still with meanings. She's got that strange precision about her. Yeah, I've decided. She flirts. She flirts a lot, because she likes the implication far more than something concrete. She laughs all the damn time because she finds it's a big joke. And then she sees you, and she can't stop laughing, because you're the biggest joke she's ever seen."

"Oh?" He opens his eyes and looks at her, eyebrow raised. "Because she can't stand me?"

"Nope." Librae shakes her head a bit too emphatically, her voice beginning to slur. He hands her another bottle. "It's because... because she sees right through you. She's bitter that you're just like her. Implication and gestures and half-truths. Slippery like an eel, the both of you. There's something she doesn't like about that." She pauses and sits up, brows knitting in thought. "But she likes you."

"I thought—"

"Mm, I stand by that. She doesn't." Librae says, words weighted, measured by the taste of alcohol. "But she likes you plenty. Love, though? That's another kettle of fish."

Because Finnick is drunk and tired and far more willing to let people be cruel to him than kind, he says, "I want to know."

Librae doesn't say anything for a long time. Seconds pass. Minutes.

When she speaks again, she sounds like she's sobering. He hopes not. "She tries. Bless her, she tries. You two can be narcissists together."

"And then?" Finnick prompts, when the silence goes on too long.

"And then one day it stops." Librae shrugs, and tilts her head back and down the liquor goes in one big gulp. "She stops trying to love you. Decides that it's a thing that can't be done. She's a bit of a star gazer, that girl of yours, and she's spent years mapping you out like the constellation she watches at night. She's a great fuck, and she knows you to the fibre of your bone, and still, Finn, still she cannot fall in love with you."

What a goddamn tragedy.

It's perfect.

"What do you think?" Librae asks, blonde strands of hair falling on her face, easily brushed back if only he reached out a little bit. He could brush it behind her ear if he really wanted.

Finnick thinks of Annie Cresta. The quiet, subdued, understated Annie Cresta who won't look at him more than necessary, who stays silent and focuses her attention on Teddy instead.

He laughs, and pretends it's the alcohol in his system that makes such an ugly sound. He flicks her forehead. "Not even close."

* * *

><p>There's a part of him, a small, small part of him that's relieved he doesn't know her that well — relieved that she keeps everyone and everything at arm's length.<p>

Everyone except Teddy, that is. She's more than willing to tease him when she thinks no one is paying attention to them, murmuring sly comments that only Teddy can hear, making him laugh or roll his eyes. She supported him more warmly than Finnick thought she would, when Teddy scored higher than her earlier tonight. A five's not bad, true, but seven is better.

She lights up around Teddy, and then she closes up whenever he isn't looking.

It's heart-breaking just looking at her.

Teddy's her anchor in a way that Finnick isn't, and couldn't bring himself to be. It's clear as water to see that Annie means just as much to Teddy.

So what happens in the Arena, when inevitably, one of the anchors is removed?

* * *

><p>Finnick's not jealous, exactly.<p>

Jealous isn't the right word, at least.

At the end of the day, Annie Cresta is still a stranger to him, albeit one he knows is his soulmate. But he's not especially attached to her.

Annie opened up to him only once. He knows more about her that first night than the days that followed.

Truth be told, he knows more about Philip from last year, Leonora, the year before that, Sophie, the one before that, and Andre, the year before that.

So, no. Finnick's not jealous.

Resigned might be a better word.

* * *

><p>What they have is something less that friendship, less that mentorship. What they have is something non-existent. The most he has of her is a glimmer of someone she could have been, brought to light by her interaction with Teddy.<p>

Finnick can't really call himself her friend or mentor when he's done nothing but avoid her.

But he's pleasant enough, he guesses, he only has to act like a friend might, and a role like _that_ is something he can settle into, like a snake shedding skin. A role like that is simple. Effortless, even.

Make 'em laugh, and you're half-way there.

* * *

><p>(He's done that, at least. He can say he made them laugh.)<p>

* * *

><p>Like any morning Finnick and Librae make the decision to get shit-faced and pass out together, they hate the morning afterwards.<p>

"If you let Victoria have her wicked way with you, you'd look flawless in seconds." Librae mumbles, head bowed and blowing into the coffee mug.

"Tonight I'm not the star of the show." Finnick reminds her, voice equally as soft.

"Maybe not, but at least then you'd be something pretty to look at." Librae grumbles, mouth set to a frown. At a squint, it's more like a pout.

"You say that like you didn't spend last night with me." Finnick lifts an eyebrow. He could go on, say that she slept like a log, just as heavy too, and when he woke up, it was her arms draped around him.

"Have you seen yourself in this morning? You look like a disaster." Librae deadpans, deciding to brave the heat and take a gulp, never mind the coffee burn. She makes a face. _"Fuck."_

"One day." Finnick promises, smirking.

She glares at him, unamused. Hangover death glares are Finnick's favourite kind.

"Five minutes." Mags tells them, Theo and Regulus following behind. Finnick knows the drill. They've woken up early so their tributes don't catch them discussing what to do next. By now it's customary for Finnick and Librae to get drunk the night before and suffer in the morning.

Finnick winces. "Maybe not so loud, Mags?"

Theo's grin is crisp, and he takes extra care to pronounce and enunciate his words far clearly than he normally would. "Of course."

* * *

><p>It's decided early on that Librae will talk to Teddy.<p>

"Try not to be jealous that you don't have your admirer," Librae quips.

"Try not to be jealous that I'm all he'll talk about." Finnick retorts, just as quick.

Teddy's admiration is sweet, more than anything else. It's a little uncomfortable at times, but it's also endearing. Besides, admiration is something that Finnick knows how to be at ease with, how to charm and be graceful. Puppy-like admiration is familiar territory that Finnick is more than capable to handle.

"Please. Four hours with me and he'll be starry eyed." Librae scoffs.

"That's funny, it's been four days, and I'm still his favourite." Finnick banters back, unable to resist the jab. It's easy to act like this. Being petty and pretending that this is the most important part. It's stupid, but addictive.

As for Annie Cresta—

The door opens, and Finnick's thoughts are forgotten as Teddy, Victoria and Annie enter.

"... yes, I think I am quite right. Red would suit you quite well. I may not be able to paint you, but there's always the more conventional method. The effect would be the same as intended; your eyes would be so lovely." Victoria says, her voice deep and ethereal as always, as she watches Annie unblinkingly. Her mouth nearly smiles. To anyone who isn't used to Victoria, it can be quite an eerie effect.

Though she doesn't say anything, Annie is visibly discomforted, staring at her with wide eyes. She nods in an awkward, jerky manner. "If you say so."

"You'll love it, I can just tell. It's very flattering." Victoria murmurs, oblivious. Finnick can tell the exact moment when she notices him, dark eyes glossy, lips parting to shape words. "Good morning Finnick."

"Victoria." He nods, and then greets the tributes. "How are you guys feeling?"

Teddy beams, a bit too cheerful for the morning, if Finnick's completely honest. Maybe it's the hangover still in effect that causes him to wince. Theo will teach him how to win the crowd's favour, at any rate, and Librae will take care of the rest.

Annie shrugs. "Nervous."

"It'll be fine." Mags tells her, warmly, soothingly. "They love you already."

"You don't need to worry so much," Ron says, voice rumbling, pulling up a chair for her. "I've got your back."

* * *

><p>Finnick's job is to think of reasons why sponsors should support District Four's Tributes.<p>

Instead, he's hanging out with Cashmere and Gloss. The way he sees it, it's worked hard these past three days, so on the fourth day, he deserves a break. He's got nothing to do but wait, might as well spend it with some people he can stand.

"Anything but the Game." He says, wearily, feeling bone-tired all at once. The feeling settles on his shoulders, and never really goes away. "We've got two weeks to talk about that. You need to talk to me about everything else."

"Fine." Gloss nods, his jaw doing that jaw thing it's always done. "Cash, you want to tell him how it's going with Enobaria?"

"Not especially." She says, catlike and curled up on the sofa. Her scowl mars her beautiful face, and tells Finnick exactly what he thought.

"Out of all the people to fall in love with," Finnick says, breathing out a sigh and tilting his head, "I would have never guessed her."

"Because she tore out her own soulmate's throat out with her teeth?" Cashmere says, flatly, eyes narrowed and vicious. "C'mon, Finnick, you know what its like."

"You do what you have to do to survive. I'm sure she's lovely, once you get to know her." Finnick concedes, shrugging. "Must be a District Two thing. In never got taught how to be a showman to that degree."

"Don't sell yourself short." Gloss smirks, his expression absurdly fond. "You do adequately well."

"_Adequately well?"_ Finnick puffs his chest out, feigning offence. "I do _more _than _adequately well._"

"You're right, Finnick. They don't call you the Great Finnick Odair for nothing." Cashmere rolls her eyes, humouring him.

Finnick fails on both accounts trying to suppress his surprise or the fact that he's really pleased that his self-appointed title has finally achieved universal recognition.

"Who calls me that?" Finnick asks.

Without missing a beat, Gloss answers, "Snow, mostly."

Cashmere laughs.

On some level, Finnick is certain that he expected Gloss to give him an answer like that to knock him down a peg or two. It still takes a second for the words to register, and another to find the words to talk.

"That's _low_, Gloss." Finnick manages to say at last, while Gloss remains composed and stoic, though it's evident that he's satisfied with the reaction he's caused.

"Like you weren't setting yourself up for a fall." Gloss says, reasonably.

"Still." Finnick grins. Gloss isn't one to tell jokes. He has a few witty retorts, once in a blue moon, but usually nothing as brazen as this. "Even for you, that's low."

Gloss shrugs, not particularly repentant about it. He offers, "You caught me at a bad time."

"What happened?" Finnick asks, concerned. His gaze slides over to Cashmere, who glowers.

"Nothing happened. We're just glad we don't have anything to do today." Cashmere answers curtly, standing up and smoothing out the folds of her dress. "Don't you usually spend today in the Jacuzzi?"

"I don't spend _all day_ in the Jacuzzi. Sometimes I have company." Finnick says defensively, before an idea takes hold and he flutters his eyelashes at Gloss. "Interested?"

At this, Gloss' stoicism breaks away and reveals a fantastic grin. It's a binding effect, enhanced by his jawline. "Another time."

"Suit yourself." Finnick shrugs, dropping the act, and wishes that he could stay here forever, as a shadow, as nothing. He's going out of his skin and out of his mind, and no matter what he does, he can't rid himself of this restlessness.

"What are you here for, Finn?" Cashmere says, eyes bright and focused on him intently. It's not something she does very often, but Cashmere can be intense when she wants to be. Finnick hates how they are kindred spirits in how the Capitol views them. It's not a pleasant thought. "Why are you here, really?"

The thing is, he could tell them. He knows they'd understand, because they've taken him under his wing, the Timers on their wrists damned them too. They don't talk about it to just anyone. Finnick only found out last year, and only then because they got spectacularly drunk. But, they're close. They're close. Anyone would be close if they won the Games and were family. They wouldn't judge him.

He doesn't want to say, _I don't know my soulmate, and I don't want to._

He doesn't say, _I don't know my soulmate, but I don't want to watch her die._

He doesn't say, _I hate this part. Every year, I hate this part._

He says, "I needed to get away for a little while."

* * *

><p>There are cupcakes on the table when Finnick gets back. Pretty and bright and vibrant and sugary-sweet, sickening as they are delightful.<p>

Ron doesn't even like sweet things.

And yet he makes an exception for chocolate every time.

Finnick asks, "How's Aemelia?"

Ron heaves out a sigh, the same annoyance that appears whenever the topic of soulmates reaches his ears.

"The same as always," Ron says, neutral, "Still can't stand her. Still a fantastic baker."

"Did she happen to bake some cookies this time?" Librae asks, Teddy in two, Annie in heels, not far behind, followed by Muscida.

"Only because she likes you." Ron rumbles. He frowns at the plate of cookies in distaste. "Look at all those bright colours. How does that not hurt your eyes?"

"You don't complain when it's chocolate-chipped." Muscida notes, mildly, thought even that is enough to warrant a scowl from Ron.

"Oh I do. I might eat them, but I still don't like it much." Ron says, darkly.

"Then why eat them?" Teddy asks, taking a bite of a green frosted cupcake. Lemon-flavoured, by the looks of it. No wonder Ron won't touch them. He makes a pleasant sound, eyes lighting up. "This is really good!"

Ron shrugs. "Limits conversation. She always wants me to try her food out. Besides, I made a promise to visit her once a year, and she bakes some confectionery. And Mags likes petit fours, so."

The year Finnick won, Aemelia had baked peeps. Marshmallow candy in the shape of a baby bird. He'd liked that the sugar coating was almost like glitter, difficult to rub off. He'd kept licking his lips and tasting it on his tongue the entire journey home.

He hasn't asked for them since the year he turned sixteen.

"Annie, try this one!" Teddy says, grabbing a purple frosted cupcake and handing it to her, not quite shoving it onto her.

"Okay, okay." Annie nods, smiling softly, accepting the cupcake with delicateness, and takes a bite. She swallows, and she sounds happy. "That's delicious!"

"As much as I don't like Aemelia, she's a terrific cook, with a penchant for sweets." Ron says, discarding the marshmallows from a chocolate cupcake onto a pile.

"One day." Muscida hums, and only Librae and Finnick look at Ron, who is visibly restraining himself from losing his temper.

"It didn't work out. Enough, Muscida. Let it go." Old scripts, old arguments, old worlds. Finnick wonders why they go through this every year. And yet, Ron sounds exactly as annoyed and frustrated as he always has been whenever Muscida breaches the subject.

The truth: put Muscida and Aemelia in a room together, and there will be non-stop shouting matches. They don't get along, and it's a miracle that they are soulmates. Soulmates are weird that way.

Only if there's an excellent desert." Muscida concedes, reaching for a marzipan pig.

Finnick grins, "Since when has Aemelia ever disappointed?"

* * *

><p>Mags asks later, "How were Gloss and Cashmere?"<p>

"Good," Finnick says, smiling, "Marcellus and Priscilla were taking care of their tributes this year, but they've decided to be a more active mentor next year."

"Finn." One word should not have so much power, coupled with the strength of her gaze. Mags may have sharpened his teeth and taught him how to be a better liar, and he may have a silver tongue these days, but Finnick can never lie to her.

"I hate this part, Mags, you know that." He shifts on his feet, takes a breath instead of stepping back.

Anyone else would have deflected his response with a joke, like it's the interview he's worried about. Sure it is. Sure, okay, he wants the spotlight all for himself. He's The Great Finnick Odair, after all. Golden boy of the Capitol. He can't have anyone else steal away everyone's attention, the secrets they might have.

"We can't stop time, or make it fast forward, Finn." Mags says gently, sadly, touching his arm. "We still have a job to do."

"I know." Finnick sighs, head bowed. "This year, next year, the year after that too."

It would be a cruel lie to say it gets easier next time. It would be a cruel truth to admit he's slowly becoming desensitized to it.

And Mags — Mags has gone through this process so many times. He nearly asks her, like he did the first year, when he'd gotten attached to Andre, how she was able to do it, year after year after year.

He's nineteen now. He should be used to it.

"I'm tired, is all." Finnick says, breaking away. He lifts his shoulder and lets it drop. "Going to get some sleep. Night, Mags."

* * *

><p>Caesar Flickerman likes District Four. Why wouldn't he? District Four's Careers have been groomed since the beginning to be pleasant and charming. They can't rely on the overt strength and brutality that District One and Two tend to have.<p>

Caesar Flickerman likes all the tributes, even the forgettable and doomed ones, because in those three minutes, he brings their personality to life, even if that tribute perishes instantaneously in the bloodbath. For three minutes, he can flesh out the tributes personality, even if they are untalented or uninteresting in the actual Games.

Three minutes is a hell of a lot shorter than six days.

* * *

><p>"Annie Cresta," Caesar says with flair and a flourishing grin, "What do you like best about the Capitol?"<p>

She smiles at him before she replies. Bashful. "It might be strange to say, but I really like the Jacuzzi."

"The Jacuzzi!" He replies with a delighted expression. "That's not strange, my dear, it's perfectly understandable. We at the Capitol like our luxury, isn't that right?" The audience reply with appreciative murmurs and nods. "What is it that you like about them?"

Her answer is more immediate this time, like she's excited to talk about such a quaint topic. Cute. "The bubbles!" The audience laugh. "It's true. There's something so relaxing about them. There's something so peaceful and comfortable about bubbles, that I feel like I'm about the fall asleep and go right under."

"I know exactly what you mean." He nods, smiling genially, his blue suit sparkling. "Speaking of water, I absolutely _adored_ your opening ceremony costume."

She beams at that. Enchanting. "It was so pretty. It was like being in the ocean." She pauses, then continues. "But I love wearing this dress."

"You look magnificent in red." Caesar agrees, and the audience applauds, right on cue.

This is an Annie Cresta Finnick has never known.

"Thank you." Annie says, blushing prettily. Desirable.

"Now tell me," Caesar leans in, dramatically lowering his voice into a whisper, a loud whisper, meant best for shared conspiracies. "How do you intend to win?"

She opens her mouth and pauses, turning to the audience with a flick of her eyes, before she smiles. Mischievous. "I'd hate to ruin the surprise."

"_Annie,_" Caesar gasps, shocked, scandalized, eager to know more. "I would never ask you to _that_. All I ask for is a hint of what is to come. One hint couldn't possibly hurt."

She wavers. Teasing. "Just between us?"

"Of course." Caesar nods, his expression on of exaggerated seriousness. He even performs the action of crossing his heart.

"Alright."

And the audience roars, thrilled by the spectacle Annie puts on, how she gives in easily to Caesar's charms.

"I'm very good at adapting to situations, so I'm hoping my instincts won't lead me astray this time." She says, determined, chin raised high. Fierce.

"As do I, Annie, you have been a pleasure to talk to." Caesar says, beaming brightly. "One more thing—"

It's not too noticeable, but Annie stills. Her smile strains a second too long, her eyes widen. Finnick recognizes _that_, at least, whenever Victoria was nearby. Back on the defence.

Caesar Flickerman is about to ask what he asks all Tributes at the end of their three minute interviews.

His gaze lingers on her wrist.

"I see you've found your soulmate."

"My true love? Yes." She smiles, glowing with happiness. "He's waiting for me back home."

"How sublime." Caesar says, as the audience coos and _awws_ at her. "I wish you the best of luck, Annie Cresta from District Four. May you find your way back to him!"

* * *

><p>It's a long time before Finnick can breathe again.<p>

* * *

><p>(Teddy's interview is sweet and charming, and Finnick tells him as much when they watch it again, able to concentrate this time around. He grins as Teddy flushes with pride, admiration radiating from him as if he's turned into the sun. He doesn't know what to tell Annie, who has lied, who he doesn't understand, and can't read, and tells her with a plastic smile <em>good job.<em> He doesn't know what to think, if he's shocked, relieved or saddened. He doesn't — he doesn't know how he's supposed to react.)

* * *

><p>In the end, he doesn't ask.<p>

Annie Cresta might be his soulmate, but she's still a stranger.

* * *

><p>How the Capitol chooses to immortalize Annie Cresta is not the way Finnick will remember her.<p> 


End file.
